The Wee Free Men

might reach the village. She was good at running.

But if she got there, then what? She’d never reach a door in time. And people would shout, and run about. The dark horseman didn’t look like someone who’d take much notice of that. No, she had to deal with it.

If only she’d brought the frying pan.

‘Here, wee hag! Stannit ye still, right noo!’

She stared up.

A tiny blue man had poked his head up out of the snow on top of the hedge.

‘There’s a headless horseman after me!’ she shouted.

‘He’ll no make it, hinny. Stand ye still! Look him in the eye!’

‘He hasn’t got any eyes!’

‘Crivens! Are ye a hag or no’? Look him in the eyes he hasnae got!’

The blue man disappeared into the snow.

Tiffany turned round. The horseman was trotting under the trees now, the horse more certain as the ground levelled. He had a sword in his hand, and he was looking at her, with the eyes he didn’t have. There was the breathy noise again, not good to hear.

The little men are watching me, she thought. I can’t run. Granny Aching wouldn’t have run from a thing with no head.

She folded her arms and glared.

The horseman stopped, as if puzzled, and then urged the horse forward.

A blue and red shape, larger than the other little men, dropped out of the trees. He landed on the horse’s forehead, between its eyes, and grabbed an ear in both hands.

Tiffany heard the man shout: ‘Here’s a face full o’ dandruff for ye, yer bogle, courtesy of Big Yan!’ and then the man hit the horse between the eyes with his head.

To her amazement the horse staggered sideways.

‘All right?’ shouted the tiny fighter. ‘Big toughie, is ye? Once more wi’ feelin’! ’

This time the horse danced uneasily the other way, and then its back legs slid from under it and it collapsed in the snow.

Little blue men erupted from the hedge. The horseman, trying to get to his feet, disappeared under a blue and red storm of screaming creatures—

And vanished. The snow vanished. The horse vanished.

The blue men, for a moment, were in a pile on the hot, dusty road. One of them said, ‘Aw, crivens! I kicked meself in me own heid!’ And then they, too, vanished, but for a moment Tiffany saw blue and red blurs disappearing into the hedge.

Then the skylarks were back. The hedges were green and full of flowers. Not a twig was broken, not a flower disturbed. The sky was blue, with no flashes of diamond.

Tiffany looked down. On the toes of her boots, snow was melting. She was, strangely, glad about that. It meant that what had just happened was magical, not madness. Because, if she closed her eyes, she could still hear the wheezy breathing of the headless man.

What she needed right now was people, and ordinary things happening. But more than anything else, she wanted answers.

Actually, what she wanted more than anything else was not to hear the wheezy breathing when she shut her eyes…

The tents had gone. Except for a few pieces of broken chalk, apple cores, some stamped-down grass and, alas, a few chicken feathers, there was nothing at all to show that the teachers had ever been there.

A small voice said, ‘Psst!’

She looked down. A toad crept out from under a dock leaf.

‘Miss Tick said you’d be back,’ it said. ‘I expect there’re some things you need to know, right?’

‘Everything,’ said Tiffany. ‘We’re swamped with tiny men! I can’t understand half of what they say! They keep calling me a hag!’

‘Ah, yes,’ said the toad. ‘You’ve got Nac Mac Feegles!’

‘It snowed, and then it hadn’t! I was chased by a horseman with no head.’ And one of the… what did you say they were?’

‘Nac Mac Feegles,’ said the toad. ‘Also known as pictsies. They call themselves the Wee Free Men.’

‘Well, one of them head-butted the horse! It fell over! It was a huge horse, too!’

‘Ah, that sounds like a Feegle,’ said the toad.

‘I gave them some milk and they tipped it over!’

‘You gave the Nac Mac Feegles milk!’

‘Well, you said they’re pixies!’

‘Not pixies, pictsies. They certainly don’t drink milk!’

‘Are they from the same place as Jenny?’ Tiffany demanded.

‘No. They’re rebels,’ said the toad.

‘Rebels? Against who?’

‘Everyone. Anything,’ said the toad. ‘Now pick me up.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s a woman at the well over there giving you a funny look. Put me in your apron pocket, for goodness’ sake.’

Tiffany snatched up the toad, and smiled at the woman. ‘I’m making a collection of pressed toads,’ she said.

‘That’s nice, dear,’ said the woman, and hurried away.

‘That wasn’t very funny,’ said the toad from her apron.

‘People don’t listen anyway,’ said Tiffany.

She sat down under a tree and took the toad out of her pocket.

‘The Feegles tried to steal some of our eggs and one of our sheep,’ she said. ‘But I got them back.’

‘You got something back from the Nac Mac Feegle?’ said the toad. ‘Were they ill?’

‘No. They were a bit… well, sweet, actually. They even did the chores for me.’

‘The Feegle did chores!’ said the toad. They never do chores! They’re not helpful at all!’

‘And then there was the headless horseman!’ said Tiffany. ‘He had no head! ’

‘Well, that is the major job qualification,’ said the toad.

‘What’s going on, toad?’ said Tiffany. ‘Is it the Feegles who are invading?’

The toad looked a bit shifty. ‘Miss Tick doesn’t really want you to handle this,’ it said. ‘She’ll be back soon with help…’

‘Is she going to be in time?’ Tiffany demanded.

‘I don’t know. Probably. But you shouldn’t—’

‘I want to know what is happening!’

‘She’s gone to get some other witches,’ said the toad. ‘Uh… she doesn’t think you should—’

‘You’d better tell me what you know, toad,’ said Tiffany. ‘Miss Tick isn’t here. I am.’

‘Another world is colliding with this one,’ said the toad. ‘There. Happy now? That’s what Miss Tick thinks. But it’s happening faster than she expected. All the monsters are coming back.’

‘Why?’

‘There’s no one to stop them.’

There was silence for a moment.

‘There’s me,’ said Tiffany.